


Push and Pull

by DrPearlGatsby



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Drabble, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Kylo Ren Needs a Hug, Post-TLJ, Rey Needs A Hug, Rey is ANGERY, Reylo Week 2020, Romance, So much angst, they both throw tantrums
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:14:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23887261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrPearlGatsby/pseuds/DrPearlGatsby
Summary: She’s so close he doesn’t need to speak very loudly, so his low threat comes out more like a purr: “I thought you already knew everything you needed to know about me. Why does this come as a surprise?”
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey & Ben Solo, Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 4
Kudos: 42
Collections: REYLO WEEK 2020





	Push and Pull

**Author's Note:**

> A drabble for the first day of Reylo Week 2020 to fill the prompt Favorite Headcanon (mine being that the force bond kept connecting them after TLJ), written in the spirit of the pre-TROS mood/ANGSTfest that really pulled me into the fandom. It's been a minute since I've written straight-up Reylo so I'm excited for this week!

“Why you—”

What follows is a stream of curses, mostly in other languages. Ren identifies as many as he can, though he’s sadly lacking a few. He’ll have to ask about those later.

“Are you done?” he asks, deliberately turning his back to her. He can feel Rey seething at him, and not just because of the bond. For weeks now she’s been silent, ignoring him, failing to engage whenever the bond kicked into place. He’s broken her of that now, and all her pent-up emotions are pouring out at once.

“ _Look_ at me!” Rey demands.

“How does it feel?” Ren asks over his shoulder again, making a show of busying himself with nothing as he bends over his simple desk. He feels her approach through the Force before her touch connects with him—chilled, impossible, her iron grip wrenching at the muscles in his forearm as she tries to turn him to face her.

Ren allows himself to be turned, looking down his nose at her as she tightens her small fist on his arm, careful to hold his mouth in his impassive, practiced frown.

“Monster,” Rey hisses.

The last time she’d stood this close, looking up into his face, he’d been on the way to delivering Snoke’s doom. The light had been evident in her then, but just as equally the hunger—or so he’d thought. He can’t believe it was all imagination, the way he thought she’d looked at him, but there’s none of that in her right now. She’s so close he doesn’t need to speak very loudly, so his low threat comes out more like a purr: “I thought you already knew everything you needed to know about me. Why does this come as a surprise?”

“We were _just_ settled. That outpost took—it took _weeks_!” Rey grits her teeth, and Ren sees there’s still conflict behind the fire in her eyes, a deep current of pure animal rage.

_How the tables turn_ , Ren thinks. “And?”

Rey releases his arm only to rear back and slam her fist into it in frustration. It’s not a combat move, not a practiced strike befitting of a Jedi, but rather the sort of pointless furious strike a small child makes when she doesn’t get her way.

Ren doesn’t let her see him flinch.

Rey’s hand latches on to his arm again, curling to bunch the heavy fabric of his sleeve, and she begins to cry. She doesn’t meet his eyes, staring straight ahead into his chest as the tears leak out of her eyes in fat tears. “You could’ve blown us off the planet; I know it. Why didn’t you just end it all then? Isn’t that what you want, _Supreme Leader_?”

Ren lashes out with his other hand, curling it behind her back and abruptly bringing her body flush against his. She tilts her head back to meet his gaze in spite of her tears, and for a moment neither of them breathes.

_You knew what I wanted_ , Ren speaks into her mind. He has no heart—that much he knows—but if he had one it would be breaking to feel her this close to him, her pulse racing under his hand where it splays against the small of her back.

She blinks for a long second, letting another fat tear roll down her cheek. _You knew that I wanted it too_. The hand gripping his sleeve relaxes and moves to rest against his cheek, the cheek left unscathed by her blade. She finishes her thought out loud, whispering, “But not like this.”

For a second, Ren forgets to breathe.

She shakes her head slowly at him, whispering with a new urgency, “Ben, please—”

And Ren _rages_. She is gone in an instant, the door to the bond slammed shut as he whirls around to send everything on his desk flying across the room. A bottle of calligraphy ink completely shatters; a screwdriver sticks point-first into a seam in the wall; a lightweight box splinters. He sees nothing, hears nothing, comprehends nothing but the way the Force feels channeled through his fingertips as he wreaks mindless destruction upon his quarters; it isn’t the first time, won’t be the last.

That night, when he sleeps, he dreams of her palm on his cheek.


End file.
